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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069108">Glücklich werd ich nirgendwo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolenFairfax/pseuds/GwendolenFairfax'>GwendolenFairfax</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rammstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Feels, Light Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:29:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolenFairfax/pseuds/GwendolenFairfax</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, one and a half years later, Richard just turns up again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Richard Kruspe &amp; Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Glücklich werd ich nirgendwo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinchenRockt/gifts">DinchenRockt</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Das ist für Dich, Dinchen! Du bist toll und ich bin so froh, Dich zu kennen! &lt;3 Du kriegst ja eigentlich auch noch was anderes von mir, aber das wird und wird einfach nicht fertig, also hoffe ich, das hier überbrückt die Lücke etwas. Auch wenn's nicht das OTP ist. XD Ich hoffe, es gefällt Dir! Fühl Dich fett gedrückt!</p>
<p>This is fiction and all errors are mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One night, one and a half years later, Richard just turns up again.</p>
<p>The doorbell rings, much too late for it to be something regular. Since Till has a kid sleeping in her room, he hurries to get the door. When he opens it, Richard is just standing there in the light of the lamp above the front door, the snowy night behind him. His facial features are nothing but sharp shadows, aroused by his cheekbones, his brow, his chin, his eyelashes, by something forlorn that nests in the sockets of his eyes. He’s shivering, the old Bundeswehr-Parka too thin for the weather. His guitar is flung across his shoulder and a gym bag is sitting next to him on the doormat.</p>
<p><em>I’m back</em>, he says. His words sound defiant and his eyes flash angrily at Till, as if he had done or said something mean.</p>
<p><em>I </em>see, Till replies quietly and cocks his head.</p>
<p>Richard looks at him for another second, then he lowers his eyes onto the doormat. Can<em> I stay here tonight? I have nowhere else to go. </em></p>
<p>His words are whispered now, but a draft of cold air tears them off his lips and carries them across to Till’s ears. <em>Sure</em>, he answers and lets Richard and some snowflakes in.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He has Richard take a seat at the old kitchen table in front of the coal-burning stove and gives him one of his sweatshirts to wear over his thin longsleeve. While Till makes him a bowl of <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/ff8573de2a1df59d00cbf5c392064494/8d66838e4f713459-16/s540x810/8273069909e573e0745112137325da4a041933f7.jpg">Buchstabensuppe</a> and a cup of strong coffee, Richard sits at the table, looking thin and forlorn in the dark blue sweatshirt that's too large, and smokes one of Till’s cigarettes.</p>
<p><em>Have you been to Berlin?</em> he asks after a while, voice hoarse.</p>
<p><em>Once or twice</em>, Till answers, putting the bowl - a spoon already inside - and the cup in front of Richard, before lighting a cigarette himself.</p>
<p><em>Did you like it?</em> Richard looks at him, his big, blue eyes curious, although something sad remains there, just in the corner. Till can hear his stomach rumble, but Richard doesn’t start to eat yet.</p>
<p><em>It was alright. But I don’t really know. Was never long enough.</em> Till shrugs and blows smoke against the ceiling.</p>
<p>Richard acknowledges his words with a nod and sips at the coffee, before taking a deep drag. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, staring into the cup, but Till knows that there’s something that he needs to say, so he remains silent, flicking off the ash of his cigarette into the empty can on the table he uses to this end.</p>
<p><em>I hate it.</em> Richard spits suddenly, sharp face dark and angry.</p>
<p>Till looks at him wordlessly, listening, pushing the bowl towards him with a calm hand.</p>
<p><em>It’s too big and it’s ugly!</em> Richard stubs the cigarette out in the can with force, pulls the bowl closer and takes a spoonful of Buchstabensuppe. <em>East AND west,</em> he continues, mouth full. He doesn’t look at Till, but has his eyes fixed on the soup, brows pulled together, upset.</p>
<p>Till watches his face, quietly smoking his cigarette.    </p>
<p>Richard takes another spoonful, eating in silence for a moment, fire cracking in the stove behind him.</p>
<p>Till sits down next to him, leaning back in his chair so he can look at him without being too close.</p>
<p><em>Everywhere’s the same, </em>Richard finally says. <em>The streets are potholed and the buildings are covered with bullet holes. Everything’s damaged. </em> Richard still looks angry, staring into his soup, but his voice is quieter now, missing the edge. <em>The people too.</em> He lifts his eyes and meets Till’s.</p>
<p>Till nods, extinguishing his cigarette in the can.</p>
<p><em>They think they’re so creative and progressive, but in reality, they’re just running away from their own existence.</em> Richard looks into Till’s eyes for another moment, his glassy now, sad and filled with a weird mix of pain and yearning. Then his jaw gets tense and he lowers his gaze onto the soup again, stirring it without really paying attention.  </p>
<p>Till hums softly.</p>
<p><em>But they don’t take care of each other, although they’re so lonely. </em>Richard murmurs tonelessly. <em>That’s because they’re all so busy trying to find themselves in this big, ugly, hurt city with its dark soul that they don’t have time to look out for each other. Instead they get lost forever. </em>He wraps his hands around the bowl, lifts it and empties it in one big gulp.</p>
<p>Till waits.</p>
<p>Richard puts the bowl down and takes a sip of coffee, then he looks at Till again. <em>The city is a maelstrom.</em> He inhales sharply. <em>That’s why I came back.</em> His blue eyes sparkle angrily again, daring Till to question his reason.</p>
<p><em>Alright</em>, Till replies quietly, looking at Richard unwaveringly, then he states with a small, careful smile, <em>Nele still remembers you. Sometimes she asks if you will come visit again.</em></p>
<p><em>She does?</em> Richard’s face lights up with a broad smile.</p>
<p>Till nods.</p>
<p><em>I...</em>, Richard starts, but then falls silent again, eyes straying off. He reaches for Till’s cigarettes, gets one from the pack and lights it. He takes a long moment to just smoke the cigarette, avoiding to look at Till. But finally, he says quietly,<em> I would like to talk to her, play some games with her, get to know her. If that’s alright with you. </em>He lifts his eyes, looking warily at Till, chin lowered, blinking at him through a veil of smoke.</p>
<p>Till smiles softly again. <em>Sure. You could teach her to play the guitar too. I want her to learn it, but you know I’m not good at that nimble-fingered stuff. So she needs a good teacher. Only if you want, of course. </em></p>
<p>Richard laughs, genuinely amused. <em>How old is she now? 4? Isn’t that a bit young?</em></p>
<p>Till grins. <em>I believe in early musical education.</em></p>
<p><em>Well, yeah, sure then! I would love to teach her.</em> Richard beams from ear to ear.</p>
<p><em>Best you stay here then for a while,</em> Till says calmly.</p>
<p>Richard looks into Till’s eyes, gaze intense and vulnerable and hopeful at the same time, then he nods. <em>Yeah. Guess I could stay for a while.</em></p>
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